Universe
by winchestess
Summary: <html><head></head>He was the light in her dark world. The magnificent end of the tunnel that just beckoned to be reached. Their lives had been destined to intertwine – to string together so wonderfully it was as though the universe had been created for that one purpose: to bring their souls closer, in ways same cannot fathom, and unite them as one being.</html>
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The day had been cold like this since twilight: the change in temperature that was usually there to identify day from night was almost non-existent. For the rain continued to pater on the rooftops, and the gales still pushed people to and fro, swaying trees in a way some would think dangerous. Yes, it was cold – but that wasn't unusual for the location. The small, commonly rainy, town sat snug on the edge of Washington near the brighter lights of Seattle and Port Angeles that were its neighbours.

It's true the pin prick on the map has its history, whether it even be known or not, and the reservation by the beach was widely known in the area to be the home of local stories; full of magic and nobility; power and love; dark and light. Yes, it is true the darker skinned reservation that sat on the edge of the near constant cloud covered town was full to the brim of its magical tales: what no one there knew, however, was just how very real they were.


	2. Chapter One

She sat at the dining room table with her legs pulled up to her chest, and her arms embracing them tither to her body. Her chin rested comfortably on her knees, and she cocked her head to the side slightly as she listened to the old radio that had been placed in the middle of the oak furnishing.

"And we'll say this once again, folks; take caution while in Seattle. The recent death poll has had the law enforcement worried…"

The news reporter continued to blabber on about the supposed animal attacks that had taken place, and how bizarre it all was at this time of year: once again saying how eerily familiar it is to the previous deaths a few years earlier.

The girl reached forward and took hold of the streaming mug in front of her, cradling it in her hands as she held it closer to her body – for the sound of the pitter-patter of the rain against the roof racked chills down her spine. Sighing slights, she attempted to snuggle deeper into her thick woolly jumper – although that proved an impossible task in the straight-backed chair she sat upon.

She was alone, with only the old radio that played its oh-so-favourite static song too often, her most treasured mug that was currently held tightly to her chest, and the chilly draft that blew in through the slightly open window she was too lazy to get up and shut.

With a frustrated huff, she placed her boiling mug back onto the table and, very ungracefully, shifted herself upright with a grimace: her feet landing onto the floor making a loud thud – and a hiss from the girl as the cold surface met her bare feet.

A loud slam echoed through the otherwise empty house from the front door at that point in time, and the brunette glanced behind her quickly before moving to switch off the crackly radio as an old cheesy song began to play. She stood up swiftly and moved – well, stumbled – out the kitchen door and down the narrow hallway that led to the entrance.

A man stood there, shaking his wet head furiously, before shrugging off his drenched raincoat and hanging it up on the banister railing. He sighed, reaching behind him to lock the front door, and peered over at the girl approaching him. A small smile lit up his otherwise tired and weary face and he ran a hand through his hair as he pulled her in for a strong hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Alright love?" He enquired, ruffling her curly hair as he grinned down at her in a knowing manner, and sure enough, and over-exaggerated grimace pulled at the corner of her lips.

"Yeah dad, I'm fine." She stepped back to look at him properly and laughed lightly at his soaked figure. "I told you to take that umbrella with you," she chuckled, and began walking back towards the kitchen, "the weather's been horrible all week and yet you refuse to take the umbrella with you." By now she had entered the kitchen and picked up the mug she left on the table, smiling over at her father – who was grumbling as he sat down.

"Because that umbrella is for a little girl, not a full-grown man." He muttered, slouching over slightly as he ran a hand over his weary face

His daughter rolled her eyes as she began opening and closing drawers and cupboards, pulling out bits and pieces to start preparing her father's dinner. "An umbrella is still an umbrella, dad."

"Yeah well maybe I don't want to be associated as the weirdo who uses his daughter's childhood Minnie Mouse umbrella – it even has ears on it for God's sake!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically, "Emma, I am _not_ going to use that thing, and that is that." He finished, leaning back in his chair and watching his daughter dart around the kitchen. "You don't have to make dinner for me Em."

"But I want to: you're exhausted – even a blind man can see it," she told him as she poured the leftover stew from the blue pot on the stove onto an old – and quite fragile looking – plate, "This is the third time this week you've worked overtime, and it's getting to you dad, I can see it." Setting the plate into the microwave, Emma switched the appropriate buttons and then swivelled round to face her father.

He sighed and mumbled something to himself as his expression slipped into one of anxiousness. "About that," he began, "see, the past week – and the week before that, as well – I haven't exactly been working overtime…"

Emma looked startled, "Then what _have_ you been doing?" She enquired curiously. Truthfully, he feared the worst: the last time he hadn't been at work and lied to her about it was when his creep of a boss gave him the sack.

He scratched the back of his neck, "See, um, well…" He managed to stutter out before Emma interrupted him.

"Dad, what is it?" She said sharply.

Looking up at her with worry in his eyes, he bit his lip and diverted his gaze to the oak table, "I, uh, sort of…" he started mumbling and Emma completely ignored the sudden incessant beeping of the microwave as she moved to sit down carefully opposite him.

"Dad?" She asked, and her eyebrows creased, forming a small dent between them - a sure sign of when she was worried.

He looked up at her carefully as he spoke his next words with caution, watching her reaction intently.

"We're moving house."

It was as though everything froze when her eyebrows shot up her forehead and her eyes widened. It was as though everything had just stopped – for he couldn't be serious, could he? They couldn't really be moving to God knows where, right?

Finally, after quite some time just spent staring at her father, Emma stood up swiftly: the chair screeching against the lino floor at the sudden movement. "You're kidding." She said, her mouth agape as disbelief coloured her face in multiple shades of red.

Standing up also, her father raised his hands in a gesture of peace, reassurance. "Listen, you know this house is proving too pricey to keep- God, you of all people know. And it's this small place not far from here: a little bookshop and-"

"A _bookshop_?! We're moving into a bookshop?!" She screeched at an octave some would think unimaginable.

Her father winced and lowered his hands, moving round the table to comfort her with a hand to the shoulder, sighing heavily. "Ever since your mother-"

"Don't." Emma said sternly, stepping away from his gesture as she stared at him stonily. "Don't talk about her." She turned her back on him: reaching towards the microwave, so as to stop the ever louder beeping it was making, and switching it off.

Silence rang through the room, and neither of them moved or spoke – making the quiet between them all the more deafening. All that could be heard was the now gentle pitter-patter that came from the roof. They were completely silent.

Emma let out a deep breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Why a bookshop?" She asked, slowly grabbing the steaming plate that sat in the microwave.

Her father sighed and sat back down again, watching his daughter carefully still. "It's in this small town not far from here," he chuckled, "named after cutlery: Forks." He shook his head slightly as a small smile grew on his face. "The owners have had it closed down for a long time now – ran out of business or something. There's this small apartment above it, all very quaint, with more than enough room for two." He looked up at Emma eagerly, "We need to get away from this place, Em – and I know I'm gonna be out job soon enough, it's just a matter of time."

Emma had been biting her lip throughout his explanation, "To open a bookshop? That's what you want?" She asked once again, beginning to see the beauty of this crazy plan of his. She watched him nod his head enthusiastically, before she ducked her head and grabbed some cutlery to lay out where he was sitting. She leaned back against the counter by the sink with watchful eyes trained on her father's anticipating look he gave her.

Sighing, she shook her head and gave a small chuckle, "I've never really liked that school anyways."

Her father jumped out his seat and moved around to tackle Emma in a giant hug, squeezing her tightly as he kissed the top of her head. "You're going to love it there, I promise." He managed to mumble into her hair before she pushed him off with a light laugh.

"Eat." She demanded, pointing to the abandoned plate on the table.

Once he had sat down again, she shook her head and mumbled under her breath, "No more Mr Accountant Man." For she had been thoroughly enjoyed teasing him playfully with his way too formal name for a job so small.

Emma smiled at her father and pushed herself away from the counter, patting him on the head as she passed him to get to the corridor that led to the staircase. She rolled her eyes at his mutterings of 'masculinity' and 'pride' and made her way up to her room.

Her bedroom was simple really: only being made up of a double bed squished into the corner, a small bookcase that looked as though it were about to collapse with the weight of all the books that she had crammed into it, a desk that had once belonged to an elderly man her father knew who hadn't any use for it anymore, and a small chest of drawers that was full to the brim with clothes that were mainly jumpers and jeans. These pieces of furniture were all she had really, but she was content with it: for it was all she needed.

Looking at her room for the doorway, she finally saw how big it really was: how she had no need for something so large. There was a window at the furthest wall that had a lovely ledge she liked to sit on from time to time, yet rarely did as the window's hinges were so rusty flakes would flutter off at the slightest touch. Its curtains were a fading blue colour, something her grandmother had given to her years ago, and hung loosely on the thin rail that just about managed to keep them up.

Closing the door behind her as she stepped into her moonlit loom, Emma stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and began to kick off her clothes to replace them with some tatty pyjamas she so adored. After getting ready for bed in her usual routine, she crawled into the thick duvet she treasured the most and sat there for a while, just staring out the window.

The moon was so bright tonight, its illuminating light filling up her otherwise dull room in a way that comforted her. And as she shifted so she was fully stretched out underneath her covers, Emma gloried in the light that bathed her weary form.

And closing her eyes, she could have sworn she heard a wolf howling in the distance.


End file.
